


home for the summer

by horizsan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Happy Ending, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, No Sexual Content, Non-Linear Narrative, Profanity, Underage Smoking, additional/more in depth content warnings in the beginning notes, because cute, but my brain is no longer functioning at peak capacity and i can't think of anything else so, i feel like i missed a warning but i can't find anything, if i think of more tags after i post this i'll add them, jongho is scared of thunderstorms, mingi appears for a split second but he's best boy, oh this is unbetaed, please read the beginning notes all the way through there's a lot of important stuff in them, reading this will make you fall in love with yeosang and no i'm not sorry about it, seulgi is yeosang's sister because they have the same surname and i said so, so maybe i didn't, so much profanity, the underage smoking is also implied/referenced, there just isn't an actual tag for that for some reason :(, well actually there is one (1) sexual joke, yeosang is an astrophysics major which isn't important at all but i think it's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26223028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horizsan/pseuds/horizsan
Summary: Jongho and Yeosang see one another when they're home for the summer, when they can do whatever the hell they want.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 15
Kudos: 59





	home for the summer

**Author's Note:**

> i said i was going to write happy jongsang, and while i never expected it would be this soon, here we are!!!! i had a sudden burst of inspiration and wrote this in the span of 24 hours somehow, and i've actually been super excited about this idea for a few weeks now, so i'm really happy i actually got inspired to write it finally.
> 
> do forgive me if the kissing scenes aren't over the moon perfect, i rarely write kissing scenes, and all my knowledge of kissing comes from reading kissing scenes, so... i think the kissing scenes in this are the most detailed kissing scenes i've ever written, i really stepped out of my comfort zone with this one, and i hope they're up to par! i've also never written something with a completely non-linear narrative before, so if it seems a bit choppy, i'm sorry :((( i tried to make the time switchings as non-confusing as possible, though, so hopefully that works!
> 
> WARNINGS  
> \- brief description of what can be interpreted as a mild anxiety/panic attack, although it's not necessarily stated outright that that's what it is (now: june 10, 2020)  
> \- mention/description of underage drinking (then: may 17, 2018)  
> \- mention/description of underage smoking (then: april 12,2016) also sort of in (now: june 15, 2020)  
> \- there is one (1) sex joke at the very end, like second to last paragraph end (now: august 18, 2020)  
> \- there is mention/description of blood/bleeding at the end too, just after the sex joke, in the very last paragraph (now: august 18, 2020)  
> \- if there are more warnings that i need to add or if you would like me to add bold exclamation points or caution sign emojis around any of these, let me know in the comments!!!
> 
> SOME OTHER NOTES  
> \- all the atz members and all named side characters (except seulgi) are the same age in this fic (18-19 in now, 14-15 in then #1, 16-17 in then #2, 17-18 in then #3).  
> \- corona (the virus, not the beer) does not exist in this fic.  
> \- this is inspired by the song "home for the summer" by sara kays. this was originally meant to be a real songfic, with the plot actually following the lyrics of the song to a T, but then i went off track, so that got dashed to pieces, but the vibe and lyrics of the song do still fit this piece very well, i think!  
> \- if you choose to listen to the song while reading, do keep in mind that while this fic is jongho-centric, i imagined the song's lyrics to be from yeosang's pov!  
> \- a P/NR class is a Pass/No Record class, where you take a class and either you pass the class or it doesn't go on your record, so if you don't pass, the class disappears from all school record databases, it's like you never took it. quite a few unis in america offer these over winter break.  
> \- "orgo" is organic chemistry. it's a class.  
> \- don't be like jongho and yeosang. wear a helmet when you ride a bicycle!
> 
> without further ado, please welcome the longest oneshot (to date) that i have ever finished! i hope you like it as much as i do, and if you do, feel free to kudo/comment to give me some good old serotonin and motivation!
> 
> p.s. this will probably be the last thing i post for a while. i am getting my wisdom teeth pulled on september 2nd, and i start school on september 14th, and it's unlikely that i will finish any of my other works in progress between those two dates (although there's one that i'm close to finishing that hopefully i'll be able to put out before school starts, but don't count on it). i am going to be a senior in high school this year, and i am taking five dual credit classes (econ, gov, sociology, psych, and physics), so i will be Very Very Busy what with that workload on top of college applications and possibly a job, idk yet. i probably won't end up having a lot of time to write, and i definitely won't have as much time to write as i do now, so i definitely won't be posting nearly as often as i have been this past summer.
> 
> okay, for real this time, without further ado, enjoy!
> 
> \+ abby <3

**now (june 10, 2020)**

Jongho flops down on Mingi’s bed, heaving a sigh that shoves all the air out of his lungs like they’re rapidly deflating balloons. He reaches a hand out for where his phone rests on the pillow, accidentally knocking against it too hard and sending it clattering to the floor, which would have given him a heart attack if he weren’t so goddamn tired. He turns his phone face-up again, quickly scanning the screen protector for any cracks. Thankfully, there are none except the small one that looks like a spider web in the bottom right corner from when he’d dropped it on a rock this past winter when San had jumped out from behind a bush with the goal of scaring the shit out of him (which had been successful). The screen lights up with the movement, and he sees a notification informing him of a missed phone call.

He doesn’t have his glasses on, and doesn’t quite remember where he’d put them last, and he hasn’t been able to afford contact solution for a long time, so he has to squint just the tiniest bit to read the name.  _ Yeosang _ . Exhaustion forgotten, his eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, and he checks to see when the call came through.  _ 6:20 PM _ . So, a little over an hour ago. Jongho presses his thumb to the home button to unlock the device, and fires off a quick text message to the person in question. He’s confused more than anything, albeit a tad bit worried. Yeosang never calls people in general, he prefers to communicate through text messages whenever possible; and he certainly never calls Jongho. Come to think of it, Jongho can’t even remember the last time they even texted. Was it March? It must have been then, just after they’d gone to their separate colleges after Yeosang didn’t come home for winter break, opting to stay at university and take P/NR classes instead to make up for missed gen ed credits. Is Yeosang calling because something is wrong? That’s got to be the only reason, right?

And maybe Jongho has missed his window of opportunity to help, but he sends the message anyway, hoping Yeosang will at least reply and let him know that he’s alive and everything is okay.

**Jongho**

You called me? Is everything alright? You never call…

_ delivered 7:30 PM _

He stares at the word  _ delivered _ below the message for two straight minutes, waiting for it to change to  _ read _ and for a typing bubble to appear on the left side of the screen, but nothing happens. Nothing except a great weight suddenly absolutely crushing his entire body and stealing all the breath from his lungs again, followed by a loud whine.

“Jongho!” Mingi holds out the last vowel of his name for so much longer than is necessary, and Jongho fumbles around with one hand somewhere around the area of what he thinks must be the fucker’s face, trying to gain some headway in the uphill battle that is shoving his roommate off of him. “Come eat dinner with us!”

Jongho groans, and mutters, “Depends. Who is us?”

Mingi’s voice is still jet engine volume, and Jongho wishes his shoulders were flexible enough that he could slap a hand up and cover Mingi’s mouth and remind him that inside voices are a thing that need to be used sometimes, but alas, he can only get his arm back so far. “Me, Yunho, and San, of course! Who else?”

“Where are we going?”

“Ruby Tuesday’s!” Mingi exclaims, with entirely too much enthusiasm, and God, how does a nearly-sophomore in university still have this much energy and spirit left in him? Jongho groans at the thought of going to the aforementioned establishment for an actual meal, rather than just dessert and sodas, but there aren’t any other affordable options around here besides an Arby’s (which is arguably worse), and they got banned from the other Ruby Tuesday’s, the one closer to campus, when San threw an entire lava cake at Yunho’s head in a fit of passion, so he doesn’t really have a choice.

“Ah, the pinnacle of fine dining,” Jongho remarks, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Then again, it’s probably better than letting Mingi try to cook again and having their RA get up their ass about setting off the smoke alarms because Mingi somehow managed to set water on fire while attempting (and failing) to make ramen.

“It’s not that bad! Come on, please!” It’s here that Mingi makes The Face, the one that always gets Jongho to give in no matter what is being asked of him, and yes, he’s ashamed of it, but he can’t help it, okay? You would absolutely unravel at that pout any day, and don’t you try to deny it.

Jongho rolls his eyes, a defeated huff exiting his nose, and grumbles, “Fine.” Mingi climbs off of him, opening the door to their dorm room and yelling down the hallway to the one that San and Yunho share, triumphant in obtaining Jongho’s agreement to their plans. Jongho pushes himself off of the bed to a standing position, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans after making sure that it’s on vibrate so that he’ll feel it when and if Yeosang texts back.

Within the next few minutes, they’re all piled into San’s car and singing along loudly and mostly off-key to that one Carlos Santana song that goes:  _ I would give my world to lift you up, I could change my life to better suit your mood _ , (Jongho thinks it’s called  _ Smooth _ but he isn’t quite sure, and they laugh at the absolute top of their lungs when Yunho sticks his head out the window to yell his favorite part of a line in the first verse:  _ my Spanish Harlem Mona Lisa _ ). By the time they actually arrive at the Ruby Tuesday’s, Jongho has completely forgotten about the missed call from Yeosang and his still unread text to Yeosang, and when San reminds everyone that they have to leave their phones in the car per his cute little rule about proper bonding experiences being “screen-free” or whatever, he does so without thought or hesitation.

He enjoys himself with his friends, his mind totally void of Yeosang, just focusing on how San is currently making ridiculous walrus noises with two straws in his mouth, casting nervous glances at the hostess in the corner who keeps glaring at them every two minutes and is probably one step away from asking them to leave the premises, and trying not to laugh too loud. They manage to finish a lava cake between the four of them with no unfortunate incidents, pay their bill, and make it out of the restaurant without being kicked out by the skin of their teeth.

It’s when Jongho opens the back door of San’s Prius that he remembers Yeosang, and scrambles to find his phone where he’d tucked it under the seat cover. He mutters under his breath, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, where is it?” when he comes up empty-handed, and Yunho casts him a worried look from where he’s ducking through the door on the other side of the car.

“Is everything okay, Jjong? What are you looking for?”

Jongho looks up, and replies, “My phone. One of my old friends from high school called me earlier, and I missed it, so I messaged him, and he’s not the type to call and I’m worried and I totally forgot, and my phone isn’t where I left it.” He’s talking fast. Too fast. He’s panicking. Mildly, but panicking regardless. That’s fucking peachy.

Mingi comes up behind Jongho and places a gentle hand in the center of his back right between his shoulder blades, rubbing circles into the skin in an attempt to calm him down a bit. Jongho appreciates the effort, but right now, he’s just worried about Yeosang. There’s probably nothing wrong, and he’s probably just horrendously overthinking everything, but there’s no way to be sure until he sees whether Yeosang has responded or not. He only half-hears Mingi’s voice as he says, “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll find your phone, Jongho, and I’m sure your friend is fine.”

A squeal of victory comes from Yunho at the other end of the backseat as he holds up a phone with a familiar green case. “Found it!” He reaches over and hands it to Jongho, who breathes a sigh of relief, every muscle in his body relaxing and loosening at once.

San turns his head to look back from where he’s seated behind the wheel already, and asks, “So, are we ready to head back? Everyone’s all good?”

A chorus of affirmations echoes from the other three in and around the vehicle, and once all the doors to the car are closed and everyone’s seat belts are buckled, San pulls out of the parking lot onto the main road of town once again. Jongho turns his phone on, met with just his lockscreen, a photo of his dog (Luna) cuddling Yeosang’s cat (Sol) in a sunny patch on Yeosang’s front porch. No new messages. But another missed call from Yeosang. The call had been made at 7:45 PM, so mere minutes after the four of them had entered the restaurant. Jongho unlocks his phone again, met with the screen of the message he’d sent to Yeosang, but the message had been read.

**Jongho**

You called me? Is everything alright? You never call…

_ read 7:45 PM _

Jongho isn’t any less confused now than he was before. Yeosang just...read the message and called again immediately, rather than just sending a text back in response? That’s grossly out of character, and doesn’t help calm Jongho’s still frazzled nerves. Jongho tells himself that the moment he’s in the privacy of his dorm room again, he’ll call Yeosang back, and hope and pray he answers.

Thankfully for Jongho’s nerves and peace of mind, they arrive back at the dorm building within a short amount of time, and when San cuts the engine, he’s already halfway out of the car, and practically runs back up the stairs to where he and Mingi’s room is on the second floor. Mingi follows, poking his head through the door to ask a single question. “Hey, Jjong, do you want me to just stay in Yunho and San’s room so you have privacy for your phone call?”

“Yeah, that’d be really nice, actually. Thanks, Gi.”

Mingi replies with a quick, “No problem!” and a smile, ducking back out the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall as he runs towards Yunho and San.

The door closes behind Mingi, and Jongho immediately clicks on Yeosang’s contact and presses the call button, putting the phone up to his ear and sitting down on the end of Mingi’s bed before standing up again, knowing he’ll end up pacing the room while he talks anyways, per old habit. The phone rings once, twice, and God, the waiting is agonizing, but just as the third ring starts, Yeosang answers the phone.

Jongho spits the words he wants to say at record speed, just trying to get them all out before Yeosang says something, or worse, hangs up. “Are you okay? You never call me, and you didn’t answer my text you just read it, and I’m sorry I didn’t call you back sooner, I went out to dinner with my friends and I’ve told you about San’s dumb ‘no phones at dinner’ rule, and I-”

Yeosang cuts him off, voice slurred by exhaustion and maybe just the tiniest bit of alcohol, Jongho isn’t sure, the sound just as deep and soothing as usual. “Everything’s fine, Jongho, I just wanted to hear your voice. The last time I called you was in, like, the middle of March.”

Jongho throws his head back in sheer relief, blowing out his second (third, maybe, he’s lost count) sigh of the night. “So, you made me worry for nothing?”

“ _ You _ made  _ yourself _ worry for nothing, Jjong.” Yeosang laughs, that deep giggle echoing through Jongho’s head, and all of a sudden, Jongho wants to cry, because it’s just truly hit him out of nowhere how much he fucking misses Yeosang.

There’s a lump steadily rising at the back of his throat, but he firmly swallows it down and asks, “So, you wanted to hear my voice, huh?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to check up on you. I mean, I’ll see you soon when we’re home for the summer, but I wanted to talk to you before then.”

“Well, I’ve been okay. I mean, pre-med tracks aren’t easy, you know that, but...it could be a lot worse than it is.” That’s true. Jongho’s always had an affinity for science, and he’s always been good at it. He managed to pull an A on the final in orgo this semester, even got the highest grade in the class to boot (Yunho had jokingly punched him and accused him of hiding some sort of secret study materials from him, because he’d only gotten a B+, ‘only’, Mingi had scoffed, laughing off the fact that he’d nearly failed, through no fault of his own or lack of intelligence, he just wasn’t good at chemistry). He chuckles, and if they were talking in person, he would poke Yeosang in the side with a finger and make the boy scrunch his nose a little, but they’re not, so he’ll just have to make do with imagining it. He asks, “How’s my favorite astrophysics major doing?”

“I thought Seonghwa was your favorite.”

“Oh, come on, up against  _ you _ ? You’re my favorite, no contest. Seonghwa never stood a chance. Besides, I’ve talked to him like twice. I’ve never even met him.”

Yeosang laughs again, and Jongho hopes he can keep coming up with amusing things to say throughout the duration of their phone call, because sweet sugar and honey, that laugh is gorgeous. “I’m doing okay,” Yeosang says, his voice a little more hushed now, and it’s almost drowned out by the creaking of springs coming through the receiver as Yeosang shifts around on what must be a mattress. He continues, “I could be better, but I’m okay. Let’s just say I’m glad I get to come back home in a few days.”

Jongho pauses in his pacing for a split second, picking a piece of lint off of where it’s stuck to one of his socks, and replies, “Yeah, you’ll get to come home and see me, and all our old friends from high school. You’ll get to see Minho, and Juyeon, and I think Chaeyeon said she was gonna come home too.”

Yeosang’s voice gets even softer as he whispers, “You’re the only one that matters, you know that, right?”

He does know. He’s always known Yeosang was closer to him than any of the others, always known Yeosang cared about him more back then, and cares about him more now. He doesn’t like to admit it out loud. But he knows. It’s an accepted fact in the universe the two of them share, just as constant as the sky is blue and if you mess with Yeosang, Jongho will break your jaw (Yeonjun knows that one better than anyone, well acquainted with the sensation of Jongho’s fist crashing into his face at high velocity).

“Yeah, I know. I think Chaeyeon would like it if you at least gave her a hug, though.”

Yeosang chuckles again, and says, “I’m not gonna straight up fucking  _ ignore _ them, Jongho. Have a little faith in me for once.”

Yeosang would be justified in ignoring most of them. All of them, actually. Their little group were good friends for one another in high school, when there was room to be immature and stupid, but sometimes people who were good for you to be around in high school weren’t good for you anymore once you became a real adult and ventured out into the real world. “Well...I know you sort of want to forget high school entirely, and it’d be understandable if you never wanted to talk to any of us again.”

“Excluding you.”

“Including me.”

“No, excluding you. I plan on keeping you around for as long as I can.” Yeosang takes on a comical tone to his voice, trying to imitate the original voice from the video clip (not succeeding, but it’s the thought that counts), “You can’t get rid of me, bitch!”

“Isn’t it, ‘You won’t get rid of me, bitch,’ or am I remembering wrong?”

“No, you’re remembering wrong, it’s definitely ‘can’t’. Trust me, I’m always right.”

“Oh, are you now?” Jongho snickers, and loses concentration as Yeosang goes off on some probably half-hearted tangent about how he  _ is _ always right, and excuse you for daring to think otherwise even for a second, his mind pulling him along on a brainwave about how he’ll be going home for the summer soon, and he’ll be able to actually see Yeosang and have conversations like this with him in person. He’ll be able to actually see the expressions Yeosang makes as he talks, instead of having to guess and imagine them. He’ll be able to actually touch Yeosang, to squeeze his shoulder, pat his back, give him hugs once in a while. He’ll be able to play catch with Yeosang and Luna, and he’ll be able to take cat naps (in a very literal sense) in the hammock in Yeosang’s backyard, the two of them pressed together in the shade under the trees with Sol curled up near their feet, Yeosang shamelessly using Jongho’s arm as a pillow because “fuck you, your arms are muscley and comfortable”.

He breathes out, “I can’t wait to see you,” before another revelation hits him, and he starts pacing again, about ready to start jumping up and down. “Oh my God, it’ll be your birthday when we get home! You’re gonna be nineteen, fucking geezer.”

“I- Hey! Nineteen is not old, and you’re gonna be nineteen just a few months after me, so shut up!” They both pause to laugh together for a moment, and it’s now that Jongho looks at the clock and sees that it’s almost 9:30, and jeez, have they really been on the phone for twenty minutes already? Yeosang coughs on the other end of the line, and says, “Listen, my roommates are back from grocery shopping, so I’m gonna have to go ‘cause they don’t know what privacy is, but don’t forget-”

Yeosang’s voice cuts off, replaced by one that Jongho knows all too well at this point. He’s hijacked Yeosang’s phone calls with Jongho before. “Ah, are you talking to Jongho? Hi, Jongho! It’s Wooyoung, you remember me?”

“Ah, how could I forget?”

“See, he remembers me, Seonghwa! I told you he would!”

Jongho hears Seonghwa’s voice just barely in the background, saying something that sounds like, “I didn’t say Jongho wouldn’t remember you, I just said I don’t think you’re worth remembering.”

Jongho draws the phone away from his ear in a sharp jerk of shock as Wooyoung screeches, “Fuck you, I am  _ so _ worth remembering!”

Thankfully, Wooyoung’s indignant yelling gets faded out into the background as someone steals the phone away from him, and Jongho hopes it’s Yeosang, but he was never good at catching people off guard to steal things back from them, so his hopes aren’t very high. His hopes get dashed when he hears the voice of Yeosang’s third roommate float through the speaker pressed to his ear. “Hi, Jongho. Sorry about Wooyoung. Yeosang will be back momentarily, he’s just trying to pry Wooyoung off of Seonghwa right now.”

Jongho sighs, and answers, “Hi, Hongjoong. It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Listen, if Yeosang needs me to, I can just call him back tomorrow. I know he wanted to say something, but if he has to go, that’s fine.”

“No, he’ll be back in a minute. Oh, here he is-” Hongjoong’s voice cuts out, and Jongho can hear him start yelling in the background, joining the chaos with Seonghwa and Wooyoung. He can hear a door slam, and the noise fades away.

Yeosang’s voice comes back, and Jongho can practically see him rolling his eyes as he sighs and mutters, “Sorry about that. Anyways, I was gonna say, just don’t forget to meet me in my backyard the night we get back. I’ll be waiting for you in the hammock.”

“I won’t forget, I promise. Bye, Yeosangie.”

“Bye, Jjong.”

* * *

**then (april 12, 2016)**

Jongho doesn’t know this guy very well. He doesn’t really know him at all, actually, only knows two things about him: his name is Yeosang, and he’s beautiful, and really, the second thing isn’t something he knows, it’s an opinion. One that he’s pretty sure everyone with eyes shares, but an opinion nonetheless. He doesn’t know Yeosang, but he does know he wants to get the fuck out of here, because God, it just smells so bad and he’s choking on the scent and he thinks he might actually have gotten emphysema or something from these past fifteen minutes alone. And Yeosang is offering him an out, inviting him to get away, and who the fuck would he be if he said no? An idiot, that’s who.

Jongho does the smart thing for once, and says yes, and lets Yeosang grab his hand and guide him away from the rusty park bench everyone else is sitting on. Yeosang calls some excuse over his shoulder about how he’s making sure Jongho gets home safe in time for curfew (which is utter bullshit because Jongho doesn’t even have a curfew, his mom doesn’t care enough about what he does to enforce anything like that), but their friends don’t know that it’s nothing but an excuse, and they just call out collectively that they hope Yeosang and Jongho get home alright. Chaeyeon holds out her cigarette towards Jongho one last time, and asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to take a drag? Just one?”

He shakes his head for what feels like the millionth time tonight, and when Yeosang yanks on his arm to drag him away, he doesn’t protest. They swing legs over their bicycles (Yeosang’s is black with stars spray painted on it in red, which he’d done himself, which Jongho only knows because he has an embarrassing tendency to hang on Yeosang’s every word when he talks, and okay, maybe he knows more than two things about Yeosang, but it’s not like they’re close or anything) and ride off down the road towards the fire station, which is the opposite direction from where Jongho lives. He’s sure their friends are too enamored by their newfound cancer sticks (provided by the courtesy of Juyeon’s older brother, who is old enough to buy them legally) to notice the detour they’ve taken.

Jongho watches the way the hood of Yeosang’s sweatshirt slowly slides further and further off his head the further along the road they ride, and thinks about the nature of their relationship. When people ask, they say they’re friends, but they aren’t really. They’re more like acquaintances at the present moment. Yes, they’re part of the same friend group, and they have all the same friends, but in any friend group the size of theirs, you’re going to have friendships within the group that are tighter knit than others, and friendships that are barely even friendships at all, that don’t really fall under the category of friendships, and the two members of that friendship really only hang out together because of the others. Yeosang and Jongho’s relationship definitely falls into the latter category.

Jongho has always been closest with Chaeyeon, and now that he thinks about it, Yeosang isn’t closer to anyone in particular, but he’s definitely not as close to Jongho as he is to everyone else. Which, now that Jongho is thinking about it, is sort of odd, because they really do have quite a lot in common, from what he’s noticed while hanging off of Yeosang’s every word (which he really hopes the other boy doesn’t notice, because, boy, would that be embarrassing), yet they rarely talk at all. They don’t talk unless the whole group is together, actually. They never have one on one conversations. Ever. It’s like Minho, Juyeon, and Chaeyeon are a catalyst for Jongho and Yeosang’s enzymes or whatever.

He’d learned about it in biology, like, yesterday, but he’s already forgotten the exact workings of it. His mother likes to tell him that his attention span is equal to that of a goldfish, but he doesn’t think so. Sure, he has trouble paying attention in classes sometimes (okay, a lot of the time), but that’s because they’re  _ boring _ . He has no problem paying attention to things that interest him (read: Yeosang).

He barely manages to hit the brakes in time to avoid crashing into Yeosang, having gotten so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the boy had stopped. Jongho looks around, realizing he doesn’t recognize their surroundings at all. “Where are we?” he asks, fear seeping into the corners of his voice.

Yeosang’s deep voice echoes too far through the air, too loud yet too quiet, blending with the sound of crickets and frogs chirping in the weeds that line the sides of the road. The flashlight strapped to the front of Yeosang’s bike illuminates the yellow stripes that run down the center of the road, and Jongho sees a frog hop through the light before disappearing into the darkness again. “There’s no need to sound so scared.” He chuckles, and points a finger off to their right. There’s a gate there, choked by weeds. There doesn’t seem to be anything beyond it.

“What is that?”

“My spot.”

“Your spot?”

Yeosang nods, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt back over his head, and it’s only now that Jongho realizes Yeosang isn’t wearing a helmet. He touches a hand to his own head and discovers that neither is he. Great safety practices, huh? Yeosang picks up his bike and lowers it down into the ditch on the side of the road, and unstraps the flashlight from its handlebars. He leaps over the ditch and walks toward the gate, and when his hand reaches out to touch it, he looks back at Jongho and asks, “Well, are you coming or not?”

Jongho scoffs and mutters under his breath, “I don’t really have anywhere else to go, now, do I?”

Yeosang hears him and laughs, beckoning him toward the gate with the hand holding the flashlight. The light bounces up and down, and Yeosang flicks it off with an expert thumb as the headlights of a car crest over the top of the hill they just rode down. “You’re right, you don’t, so come here.”

Jongho tosses his bike down into the ditch beside Yeosang’s, and leaps across the ditch to join Yeosang on the other side just before the car drives by. His foot slips at the edge, and Yeosang reaches out and grabs one of Jongho’s hands in his to pull him back up. Jongho whispers a breathless, “Thanks,” to which Yeosang replies with nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement.

Yeosang opens the gate, flashlight still off in one hand, and lets Jongho walk past him before closing it behind them. Beyond the gate, there’s a little path, only wide enough for one person, and when Yeosang turns the flashlight back on, Jongho can see it was once made of gravel, but weeds have poked through the little pebbles so much that it looks like it’s just grass, dandelions, and other assorted plants now with a few tiny rocks sprinkled in between. Jongho follows Yeosang all the way down the path, because really, why the hell not, and like he said, he’s got nowhere else to go, really. He has no idea where the fuck they are, so it’s not like he’d be able to find his way home from here.

Jongho looks up at the sky after they’ve been following the trail through a field of pretty much nothing for about ten minutes, and a needling of worry prickles its way down his spine. There are clouds racing across the sky, dark clouds. Thick ones. Rain clouds. Possibly thunderstorm clouds. His voice is tentative and tinged with the tiniest bit of nervousness as he calls out to Yeosang who’s several feet in front of him. “Hey, Yeosang? I think it’s gonna start raining soon.”

Yeosang stops walking, and half-turns his body to look back at Jongho. “Really?” He tips his head back to look up at the sky, and says, “Shit, so it is. We better head back then. There’s no shelter where this trail leads.”

Jongho steps to the side to let Yeosang pass him, and he swears he feels a raindrop hit the top of his head. “I think I just felt a raindrop. We’d better hurry.”

Yeosang nods, replies, “Yeah, I think I felt one too,” and breaks into a run, the light from his flashlight bobbing in all directions on the ground in front of them and to either side, illuminating random sections of earth as their feet pound against the gravel and weeds. It takes them only five minutes to reach the road, and just as Jongho is lifting Yeosang’s bike out of the ditch for him, a massive clap of thunder rings through the air, loud enough to shake the ground beneath their feet a little bit. Jongho flinches; he’s never liked thunderstorms. They’ve always been much too loud and threatening in their presence. Lightning strikes on the other side of the road, way too close to the two of them for comfort. The sky cracks open, and an unrelenting torrent of rain begins to pour down on them.

They don’t even bother actually getting onto their bicycles, opting to just run them up the hill instead, since it’ll be faster and easier. As soon as they reach the top of the hill, they scramble onto the bikes and pedal as fast as they can down the other side without sliding off the road, which is already slick with water, and getting themselves killed. Jongho follows Yeosang mindlessly along the roads once more, and when Yeosang stops at a house that Jongho thinks is pretty close to his own, Jongho doesn’t even think twice about following when Yeosang dumps his bike in the grass of the front yard and beckons for Jongho to come inside the house with him.

They’re both dripping all over the mat in the mudroom, soaked to the bone, and Yeosang holds up a hand, wordlessly telling Jongho to  _ wait here _ , pulls his wet sweatshirt over his head leaving him in nothing but an equally wet white undershirt that is now completely transparent, kicks his sneakers off, and exits the room, going deeper into the house. Jongho holds his breath the whole time, hoping Yeosang will come back with more clothes on the upper half of his body, because he genuinely thinks his heart won’t survive another encounter with Yeosang’s lean chest and arms.

Yeosang does come back after a few minutes, in a pair of dry sweatpants and a new sweatshirt, this one an obnoxious royal blue color with their high school’s logo of a panther head printed on the front. He’s holding a white towel in his hands and aggressively rubbing it across his hair, in an attempt to get it dry enough so that it won’t drip all over the immaculately polished hardwood floors. He raises an eyebrow at Jongho, and says, “You can come in, you know.”

It’s now that Jongho realizes that it’s late at night, he’s utterly soaked through, and he is not, in fact, standing in his own home. He takes a couple of steps back toward the door, running a hand through his own wet hair (or at least trying to, his fingers get stuck in a knot pretty early on), and mutters, “Shit, I should get home,” under his breath.

Yeosang hears him, taking one hand away from the towel he’s holding to reach out and grab Jongho’s wrist. His voice is authoritative and even a bit snarky as he snaps, “Haha, yeah, nice try.” He lays his towel across his own shoulders and reaches his now free hand around the corner of the mudroom doorway, and when it returns into view, it’s holding another towel. He lets go of Jongho’s wrist to give him two free hands to catch the towel with when he chucks it directly at Jongho’s chest, and says, “You’re staying the night. You’re soaked, it’s late, I have dry clothes that should fit you and there’s a sunbed in my bedroom you can sleep on. It’ll be fine, we don’t have school tomorrow.”

Jongho stands there dumbfounded for a single moment that seems to stretch on like it lasts forever, and his voice is tentative and small when he responds. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I’m sure. My parents won’t care.” Yeosang walks out of the room again, the sound of his bare feet padding against the wooden floors a quiet comforting beat layering on top of the sound of the still pounding rain outside the walls. Jongho kicks his shoes off to follow, and takes off his own dripping shirt so that he won’t get Yeosang’s floors wet and get him in trouble, holding the towel against his bare chest to retain a bit of modesty. Yeosang looks back at Jongho and chuckles, muttering, “You act like I’ve never seen a guy shirtless before. You’re fine. Loosen up a little.”

Jongho chokes on his words of reply, unable to get them to fly out of his mouth before Yeosang moves on to a different topic. He points to a landline that’s attached to the wall in the kitchen, and says, “You can use that to call your mom if you want, let her know you’re spending the night here. I’m gonna go to my bedroom and grab you some nice dry clothes to change into.” He points to a door on the first floor of the house near the kitchen that has a cute little paper sign taped to it that says  _ Yeosang _ in gold glitter glue, and Jongho bites his lip, barely managing to hold back a laugh.

“That’s your room? I’ve never heard of a teenager willingly sleeping on the first floor.”

Yeosang leans closer to Jongho in order to whisper in his ear, and Jongho sucks in a sharp breath of alarm, nearly squeaking, and he thanks God he didn’t because that would have been absolutely mortifying. “Well, it makes it very easy to sneak out. All I have to do is open my window and I’m free. Besides, my sister took the upstairs bedroom with the trellis right outside her window, lucky bitch.”

His sister. That’s right, Yeosang has an older sister. Jongho racks his brain for a second to remember her name, and it’s like a lightbulb comes on in his head once he finally gets it. “Ah, Seulgi, right?”

Yeosang nods, a shadow of a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Yeah. Seulgi. You remembered.”

“You know, it might be hard to believe, but I actually listen when you talk.”

“Most people don’t, so…” With that, Yeosang walks into his bedroom, closing the door with a quiet  _ click _ behind him, and Jongho figures he should call his mother. She won’t worry too much if he doesn’t come home with no warning or sign as to where he is, and she’s probably already assumed he’s just spending the night at a friend’s house, but he thinks it can’t hurt to let her know anyway.

When he hangs up the call with his mother, he carefully knocks on Yeosang’s door; one, two, three gentle raps of his knuckles against the wood, and when Yeosang opens it, Jongho can hear faint music drifting through the room. It scratches here and there, devolving into static at points, and Jongho can see a vinyl record player in the corner that must be where the sound is coming from. He doesn’t know the song playing, but it’s nice. Yeosang steps away from the door to let Jongho enter the room, and points to the sunbed resting in the nook of the bay window. There’s a pair of sweatpants and a Pink Floyd T-shirt that looks way too big for Yeosang laid out across the bed, and Yeosang says, “I’ll step out to let you change. Just open the door again when you’re decent,” closing the door behind him as he walks out, leaving Jongho in the room alone.

He strips himself of his wet clothes as fast as he can, not wanting to keep Yeosang waiting for too long, quickly pulling on the dry ones over his damp, rain-kissed skin. The towel Yeosang gave him earlier is still in his hand, and he wraps it around locks of his hair, twisting them in a fist to get them to a state of dry-enough, where there are no longer droplets of rainwater running down their lengths to drip off the ends. The clothes smell like Yeosang, and Jongho can’t really tell exactly what the scent is, beyond fabric softener, faint cologne, and some sort of fruity scent. Peaches, maybe? It’s a nice scent. Strong enough to be noticeable, but not so strong that it’s overpowering. Just like Yeosang’s presence, Jongho supposes. Noticeable, but not overpowering.

He opens the door again, and looks straight out of it to see Yeosang sitting on top of the kitchen counter staring directly at the door, an open container of raspberries in one hand, a raspberry in the other, raised halfway to his lips, his mouth open, ready to receive the sweet fruit. Yeosang holds out the container in Jongho’s direction, and raises an eyebrow, as if to ask,  _ Want some? _ Jongho shakes his head, and Yeosang shrugs.  _ More for me _ , he mouths, a mischievous little twinkle in his eyes, so bright that Jongho can see it from over ten feet away. He pops another handful of raspberries into his mouth, hopping down from the counter and putting the container back in the fridge, giving a cute little shiver when the frigid air inside washes over him.

He and Jongho return to the confines of Yeosang’s bedroom, and Jongho flops onto his back on the sunbed, staring at the golden wood of the roof of the bay window. He turns his head to look out the window at the raindrops running down it, and notices a kitten curled up on the windowsill he hadn’t noticed before. He points to it, and asks Yeosang, “Hey, is this your cat? What’s his name?”

Yeosang looks over towards the bay window, and says, “Oh, he doesn’t have one yet. We adopted him like a week ago, and I haven’t thought of a good name yet. My sister wants to name him Sunflower, but I think that’s too long. And he’s my cat anyways, I should be the one to decide what his name will be, right?” He takes a single finger and moves a lock of hair over to the side, and asks, “Got any ideas?”

Jongho lets his gaze fixate on the cat instead of Yeosang, studying the way the kitten’s chest rises and falls with each inhale and exhale of silent breath, the way his whiskers twitch every so often, the way the tip of his tail flicks once in a while. His eyes rake across the kitten’s golden fur, and an idea strikes him, halfway formed from the lesson he’d just learned in Spanish class this morning. He looks back at Yeosang, a smile dawning on his lips just as bright as the rays of the rising sun peeking over the horizon in the morning, and asks, “How would you feel about him having a matching name with my dog?”

“You have a dog?”

Jongho nods, smile widening at the thought of his little puppy waiting for him at home, probably curled up into a little ball at the foot of his bed, maybe making mischief and chewing on one of his throw pillows. “Yeah, I do. She’s a husky mixed with something else, her name is Luna. It means moon.”

“In what language?”

“Spanish. And Italian, too, I think.”

Yeosang leans forward, capturing Jongho in his gaze and locking him in, making sure he can’t turn away. “So, what were you thinking for the cat?”

“Sol? It means sun in Spanish, and he looks like a little ray of sunshine. And it’s only one syllable, so it’s not as long as Sunflower, but it’s got the same sort of sentiment.” Jongho pulls his eyes away from Yeosang’s after the other boy has been silent for over a minute, looking over at the kitten again, who now seems to be awake and is stretching, digging his claws into the white painted wood of the windowsill beneath his paws.

Yeosang jumps up from his bed and picks up the kitten in one hand, shaking a finger in scolding. “No, Sol!” He looks at Jongho, and explains, “I’ve been trying to get him to stop doing that. Digging his claws into things, I mean. I already have to buy my sister a replacement for her favorite skirt because he poked holes in it. They’re not even noticeable, she’s just being dramatic, but…”

“You called him Sol.”

One corner of Yeosang’s lips raises, a tiny expression that’s a sort of cross between a smirk and a smile, and he nods. “Yeah, I did. I like it. It’s perfect.” He takes one of Jongho’s hands in his free one for a split second, squeezing it for a brief moment that Jongho really wishes would last longer, drag itself out, maybe forever. Yeah, forever sounds good. He lets go, and adds, “Thanks, Jongho.”

They both retire to the beds, Yeosang replacing the newly christened Sol in his spot on the windowsill. Jongho closes his eyes, trying not to focus on the fact that he’s actually sleeping in Yeosang’s house, in the bedroom of someone he barely considered a friend before tonight. He opens them again, staring up at the ceiling, which he’d never noticed the intricate design of earlier, but Yeosang really is a person whose soul was made of art and stars and everything else beautiful in the world.

It's coated in a layer of black chalkboard paint, and in chalk scrawled on the ceiling are stars, drawn constellations with their names and short snippets of stories written below them in Yeosang’s haphazard but readable handwriting. Beautiful. Jongho closes his eyes again, brain swirling in thought after thought of beautiful Yeosang, until another clap of too-loud thunder echoes through the air outside. Realistically, he knows it can’t hurt him, and there’s no real reason to be scared, but that’s the thing about fear, it isn’t realistic or rational, and so he’s terrified anyway. He yelps, and hopes and prays Yeosang didn’t hear him, but when he opens his eyes just a crack to see if Yeosang is awake, the boy has gotten out of bed yet again and is rummaging through the bottom drawer of his dresser. He’s looking for something.

Jongho closes his eyes again, hoping Yeosang will think he’s asleep. It doesn’t work. Yeosang walks over to Jongho, and deposits a worn-out teddy bear with one button eye hanging on by a thread on the sunbed next to him, along with a tiny little security blanket. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he whispers, soft and sweet like honey on top of the background noise of the rain and the quiet layer of the same song on repeat that’s barely audible, and Jongho thinks this must be what love feels like. He doesn’t really know what it feels like, but he thinks this is pretty close, if not right on the money.

* * *

**now (june 15, 2020)**

The hinges squeak to high heaven as Jongho pushes open the gate to Yeosang’s backyard, and he winces at the sound, but all thoughts of the way it grates on his ears fall away as he notices who is waiting for him. Yeosang is spread out starfish-style in the grass, eyes closed against the sun beating down directly onto his face, hair that same sun-kissed brown color it’s been since they were freshmen in high school, when they first started getting close on that dark and stormy night. It looks like he’d made an attempt to style it, straighten it, but sections are crimping up again and turning into those lovely natural waves Jongho loves so much. 

He wishes their proximity to the ocean had done that to his hair too, but no (he thinks he wouldn’t be able to pull it off as well as Yeosang does, anyway). Besides, Yeosang lives close to the sea year-round still, whereas Jongho now lives in a land-locked small town for nine months out of the year.

Yeosang opens his eyes at the creaking sound of the gate, lifting a hand to shield his view so he can actually see who is gracing him with their presence. He smiles at the sight of Jongho, and calls, “You remembered!”

“Of course I did. You told me not to forget, remember?”

Jongho kneels down next to Yeosang in the grass, giving him a playful poke in the stomach and a smile. He thinks it’s funny how they’re older now, but their dynamic has not changed in the slightest. Playful banter sprinkled with quiet affection and sweet words whispered in the dark during times of storms and peril. They’re still just the same fourteen year old kids that they were back then, albeit with more knowledge in the realms of science. And life. They both actually sort of know how to cook now.

Yeosang curls his body into a protective little ball, shielding his stomach, and lets out a choked little giggle. He rolls away from Jongho, almost rolling on top of the cat, who Jongho hadn’t noticed was stretched out in the grass next to Yeosang, but Sol leaps to his feet and scrambles out of the way just in time. Yeosang points to the hammock in the shade between the oak trees, the long sleeve of his thin white button-down sliding down his arm as it rises from the ground. “You up for a nap?”

“Always.”

They settle down into their usual position, Jongho on his back, Yeosang curled into his side with one of Jongho’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, Sol moving around the hammock as he so pleases, choosing to curl up on Jongho’s stomach for the time being. Yeosang unwraps a peach lollipop and sticks it into his mouth, holding out a mango one for Jongho to take. Jongho remarks, “You know, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to eat lollipops while you’re trying to sleep, ‘cause you could, like, choke and die or something,” but he pops the candy into his mouth anyway.

“If I choke and die, then I choke and die.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the outlook you’re supposed to have on life, Yeosangie.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the outlook life has given me.” Yeosang nuzzles closer into Jongho’s side, closing his eyes and letting the peach-flavored candy dissolve on his tongue, while Jongho counts licks of his lollipop instead of sheep. He loses count somewhere around fifty, drifting into the sweet release of half-sleep. At some point, he feels Yeosang shift to climb on top of him, legs locked around his waist, arms wrapped gently around his neck and head resting on his chest, but it doesn’t really wake him any, and even if it did, he wouldn’t have made Yeosang move. He never falls asleep fully, but this brief rest is enough. It’s nice. Relaxing.

After a while, Yeosang leaves the hammock, probably to throw his lollipop stick away like a good environmentally conscious citizen. He comes back within a few moments, picking up Sol and removing him from Jongho’s stomach (which the cat responds to with a yowl of protest), and restoring his original position encasing Jongho with his entire body. All of a sudden, Yeosang’s weight leaves his body, but not the hammock, and although Jongho can’t be bothered to open his eyes and check, he wonders where Yeosang has shifted to.

“Hey, Jjong?”

Jongho opens his eyes to see Yeosang propped up above him in the hammock, arms locked straight out at either side of Jongho’s head, and it looks like he’s about to start doing pushups any minute. The dappled sunlight filtering through the curtain of oak leaves above them frames Yeosang’s face in a halo of golden light, and Jongho doesn’t think Yeosang has ever looked more beautiful than he does in this precise moment; soft brown hair flopping over his forehead in messy waves (no straightened sections remain), the position he’s in exposing the little vaguely-cloud-shaped pink birthmark next to his left eye that Jongho’s always thought was cute, lips just ever so slightly parted like he was about to say something but choked on it at the last second, gentle peach-scented breath fanning over Jongho’s face.

“Mmm?”

Yeosang rolls his lips, once, and averts his eyes to look toward the house, as though he’s making sure there’s no one there watching them. There isn’t, his parents aren’t home, and his sister is occupied on the phone with her girlfriend. His eyes flick back to Jongho, and there’s something glimmering in their onyx depths, something that causes a knot of nervousness to tie itself in Jongho’s stomach.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jongho doesn’t choke. He’s not sure why he doesn’t. He expected to. He knows he certainly would have choked if Yeosang had asked him that the day of high school graduation the way Jongho had thought he was almost going to. But here in the hammock in Yeosang’s yard with no one watching them other than the (probably judgmental) eyes of Sol the cat, he doesn’t choke. No. He moves his hands from where one is holding the last legs of a mango lollipop and the other has fingers tangled in Sol’s long golden fur to rest them on Yeosang’s waist, the lollipop stick remaining between two of his fingers, held the same way their friends from high school used to hold Marlboros.

“I don’t see why not,” he says, and wow, he bets that the Jongho from graduation day would have loved to have this much courage. Then again, the Jongho from this moment is glad that the Jongho from graduation day didn’t have this courage, because he thinks there couldn’t possibly be a more magical, more absolutely perfect setting for their second kiss than this.

Yeosang ducks down, and as soon as their lips meet, the lollipop in Jongho’s left hand is utterly forgotten, tumbling to the ground where it will stick to the grass and become inedible, but Jongho couldn’t care less. Yeosang’s lips taste like peaches and sunshine, and Jongho doesn’t remember peaches tasting this good, and he certainly doesn’t remember kissing feeling this good, but he supposes everything is made better when Yeosang is involved. Yeosang’s arms aren’t locked at either side of Jongho’s head anymore, and he’s got most of his weight resting on Jongho’s chest, but Jongho doesn’t care because Yeosang’s hands are in his hair and his hands are gripping Yeosang’s waist, encasing him in a safe, strong, grasp; and Yeosang’s lips are soft and warm against his and he didn’t quite know that this was all he’d ever wanted until he got it, but this is all he’s ever wanted.

Yeosang smiles into the kiss briefly before pulling away, and then he’s laughing, and then Jongho is panicking because  _ oh shit, what if I’ve somehow become a worse kisser since high school _ , and then Jongho sees that Sol is pawing at Yeosang’s arm and meowing, begging for the attention to be back on him. Yeosang removes a hand from Jongho’s hair for a moment to gently shove Sol away, before ducking back down to kiss him again. Jongho is no less starstruck the second time around, and when Yeosang pulls away again and rests his head in the crook of Jongho’s neck, he nearly pouts.

Yeosang whispers, “You know, I think mango is my new favorite fruit,” before peppering tiny kisses up the side of Jongho’s neck and along his jawline.

Jongho chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of Yeosang’s head, and there’s the saccharine flavor of mango juice in his voice as he replies, “Funny how peaches are mine, isn’t it?” They laugh, the sounds of their respective joy blending together perfectly, like strawberry and banana, lemon and lime, pomegranate and blueberry, peach and mango, two flavors who are just meant to go together. Jongho’s tone is more serious, less playful, when he asks, “Seriously, though, do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that again?”

“No, but I know I’ve been wanting to do that again for a long time.”

Jongho removes a hand from Yeosang’s waist, relocating it to cup Yeosang’s jaw and tip his head up to meet Jongho’s gaze again, and there’s that playful sheen of mango-flavored love dancing in his eyes as he suggests, “Well, let’s make up for lost time, shall we?” and pulls Yeosang back to his lips once more.

They stay in that hammock until long after the sun has set and the mosquitoes have come out to eat away at their languid bodies, just kissing one another over and over like there’s nothing else in the world they would ever need to do. And for now, there isn’t.

* * *

**then (may 17, 2018)**

Jongho is giggling, and he thinks it sounds stupid, but at the same time, he doesn’t really care. Yeosang sounds just as giddy as he does, and maybe they both sound a little stupid, maybe they both sound like fucking idiots, but they’re young and dumb and a little bit tipsy on shitty beer and the world has been reduced to nothing but Yeosang’s backyard and they’re the only two people in it. Yeosang rolls over to face Jongho, still laughing, and Jongho doesn’t even remember what they’re laughing about, but it must have been funny. It’s dark, totally dark, except for the yellow glow from the porch lamps on either side of Yeosang’s back door, the features of Yeosang’s face just barely illuminated in the nighttime air.

Jongho is laying on his back on the grass, the alcohol in his bloodstream only halfway inhibiting his ability to think about the possibility of bugs crawling up the back of his untucked shirt, and the shirt isn’t even his, it’s Yeosang’s, and the reminder of that brings a blush to his cheeks. His head flops to the side, and his eyes are level with Yeosang’s, and God, that boy’s rosy cheeks and shining eyes are just so fucking beautiful. Yeosang shifts closer, and Jongho can smell the Bud Light on his breath, and he hates the smell, but once Yeosang’s mouth closes again, a wave of a new scent washes over Jongho’s nose, and it’s just  _ Yeosang _ , that familiar smell of faint cologne, a tinge of fabric softener, and a faint touch of peaches to top it off.

Yeosang moves first, closing the already miniscule gap between them, and his lips are a little bit chapped, but Jongho doesn’t mind. He lets Yeosang take the lead, knowing damn well Yeosang is the one with more experience between them, and he doesn’t mind that either. It’s two o’clock in the morning, and they’re sixteen, and they’re both just the slightest bit drunk, and it’s the tail end of spring blending into summer and they’re laying on wet grass and maybe Jongho’s hands grip Yeosang’s shoulders a little too tight, and maybe Yeosang’s teeth accidentally graze Jongho’s bottom lip a little too hard, but neither of them mind. If it were any other moment, they would be worrying about the looming expectations of the SAT exam and the crackdown on the college search that comes with the end of their junior year, but in this moment, they worry about nothing.

They just get lost in one another like there’s nothing else they need to worry about, and for the moment, it’s okay for them to forget their worries. Just for a moment.

* * *

**then (august 23, 2019)**

“So, we’re really leaving, huh?”

Jongho looks at Yeosang, who’s slapping a final piece of packing tape onto a box that’s really stuffed way too full, which should have been obvious when they realized they would need three layers of tape to keep it shut, and nods. “Yeah, I guess. We’re finally fucking off to university.”

Yeosang bites his bottom lip, which draws blood purely because they’re just too damn chapped, and it makes Jongho think of the day they graduated two months ago, when there had been a split second where he’d thought Yeosang was going to kiss him, and he’s still just a little bit disappointed that he didn’t. Yeosang has only ever kissed him once, when they were tipsy in his yard at two in the morning when they were sixteen, and Jongho has spent nearly every moment since then waiting for him to do it again. Yeosang has never expressed any desire to do it again, never made Jongho think he wants to do it again, except for that one fleeting moment at Juyeon’s graduation party when Yeosang looked at him, dark eyes mirroring the fairy lights behind Jongho, and his gaze had flickered down to Jongho’s lips for a second, and he’d opened his mouth like he was going to ask something, but said nothing. Jongho wishes he’d had the courage to step forward and close the distance between them himself, but alas, he had not.

“I can’t believe you’re really going to college so far away.”

“It’s not  _ that _ far.” Jongho is right. It isn’t that far. Yeosang is just making it seem far because Jongho is moving to a backwater town he’s never heard of to attend college and start over, quite literally, in a sense. He keeps trying to explain to Yeosang that he’s not going to start anything over without him, but the other is hearing none of it. “Besides, you’re going far, too. All the way down south.”

“Well, yeah, but  _ I’m _ gonna come home for the summer.”

“When did I ever say  _ I _ wasn’t?”

Yeosang looks over at him with shock apparent in his eyes, and cocks his head to one side, taking a step to the left to let Sol jump between the sunbed and Yeosang’s desk. “You are? I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

Jongho chuckles, and pokes Yeosang between the ribs, his finger cushioned by a black and purple tie-dye sweatshirt. “Come on, you thought I’d ever pass up any opportunity to see you? Not in a million years.” He pulls Yeosang into his arms in a hug that’s maybe a little too tight, but he knows Yeosang doesn’t mind it, and whispers into the other boy’s ear, “We’ll keep in touch, right?”

Yeosang pulls away slightly, putting just enough distance between them that their noses are barely an inch apart, and if Jongho had a single courageous bone in his body, he would kiss Yeosang, but he doesn’t. Yeosang whispers, “Yeah, of course,” and holds up a pinky, adorned with the thin silver band Jongho had given him as a birthday present just before they’d graduated. He had a matching one, and Yeosang had cried when Jongho had explained to him that it was meant to be an eternal pinky promise, linking the two of them no matter when, no matter where. Jongho holds up his own hand and links his pinky with Yeosang’s, the two rings making a faint  _ clink _ sound when they touch.

(And this promise may be broken in the short term, but in the long run, it stays.  _ An eternal pinky promise. _ )

* * *

**now (august 18, 2020)**

“Yeosang, you know just as well as I do that this isn’t realistic!”

Jongho closes his eyes, shuts them tight, because he knows that if he opens them, he’ll see tears spilling down Yeosang’s cheeks, and that’s the absolute furthest thing from what he wants to see right now. He’ll see tears that he brought out trickling from the eyes of the absolute last person he ever wanted to make cry, and that’s the last thing he wants to open his eyes to. He steps forward blindly, knowing Yeosang is still standing in the exact same spot he was before, and as soon as he feels a warm chest pressed to his and a wet cheek brushing against his, he closes his arms around Yeosang’s frame, pulling him impossibly closer.

He buries his face in Yeosang’s neck, whispering  _ I’m sorry _ over and over again until the apology doesn’t sound like a word anymore, until it sounds like nothing but broken hearts, raindrops on bay windows during thunderstorms and running away from secondhand cigarette smoke, discarded mango lollipops and peach sunshine kisses. He whispers it one last time, “I’m so sorry,” and he’s scared Yeosang will somehow manage to shove his hands between his chest and Jongho’s and push him away, but he doesn’t. Jongho dares to whisper it again, knowing that if Seulgi were home right now, she’d have a knife in her hand with his name on it right about now for daring to make her precious little brother cry, and he’d deserve it. “I’m so sorry, love, I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.”

“I know it’s hard to make long distance work, but I think you’re worth it, Jjong. And I mean, we’ll always see each other when we’re home for the summer and we can do whatever the hell we want.” Yeosang’s voice is raspy and muffled by Jongho’s shirt, and he’s really croaking the words more than saying them, and God, it breaks Jongho’s heart to hear him like this because of  _ him _ .

“You’re more than worth it, Yeosangie, I’ve never thought anything different, I’m just fucking  _ scared _ .” He fists one hand in the back of Yeosang’s shirt, somehow managing to pull him closer, and presses his lips to the crown of Yeosang’s head in what is perhaps the most chaste kiss he’s ever bestowed upon the other.

“I know, Jjong. I’m scared, too. But remember,” Yeosang pulls his head away so that they’re genuinely looking at one another now, holds up his right hand and shows off his pinky finger to Jongho, the silver ring circled around it catching the sunlight filtering through the kitchen window and shining bright in front of Jongho’s eyes, “our eternal pinky promise? You remember the promise we made to stay in touch?”

“Yeah, and look at how well  _ that _ went.” Jongho wants to take the words back the second they leave his mouth, but that’s, unfortunately, not possible.

“Jjong, we’ll keep the promise. Maybe not in the short term, but always, always, in the long term.” His eyes sparkle with a fresh set of tears and it hurts Jongho to look at them, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Yeosang. “Tell me, Jjong, when have we ever been the type of people who needed to talk constantly to maintain a relationship?”

_ Never _ . That’s when. Never. They’ve never been the type of people who needed to talk just to fill the silence, they’ve never been the type of people who couldn’t go without seeing one another for a while, they’ve never been the type of people who needed to text one another good morning and good night every day. They’ve always been the type of people who loved to hear one another’s voices when they hadn’t in a while, they’ve always been the type of people who would run straight into one another’s arms when they’d been apart for some time, they’ve always been the type of people who would never turn down the opportunity to smile at waking up to a message that read  _ good morning! _ with a heart emoji attached, but never needed that feeling.

“Never.”

“Exactly.” Yeosang smiles at him, and when he blinks, a single tear slides down his cheek. “And when will we ever be?”

“ _ Never _ .” Jongho cups Yeosang’s face in his hands and pulls him the miniscule distance up to kiss him, and this time, Yeosang’s lips are salty with the taste of his tears, but Jongho gently washes them away with that same consistent sheen of mango-flavored love as always. Yeosang responds just as gently, Jongho never doubting how eager he is to reciprocate the kiss, but Yeosang was never careless in his excitement, and nothing has really changed now. Yeosang wraps his arms around Jongho’s neck, tangling fingers in his hair and tilting Jongho’s head just a bit to deepen the kiss the tiniest amount just as Jongho hears Seulgi walk through the door behind them, and Jongho yelps and tries to scramble back, instinct still refusing to let anyone see them, but Yeosang just brings those gentle hands down to his waist to pull him ever closer.

Seulgi ignores them, walking straight past them to go up the stairs to her bedroom, and as soon as she’s out of earshot, Yeosang pulls back enough so that their lips are still touching, but just barely, brushing against one another just as gently as rays of peach sunshine. Yeosang whispers against his lips, so quiet Jongho can barely hear him, but the soft words he breathes out are unmistakable. “I love you.”

Jongho chases Yeosang’s lips again, capturing them in his once more for a moment so brief that by the time Yeosang begins to reciprocate, he’s already pulling away. He rests his forehead against Yeosang’s, his strong hands holding a firm but gentle grip on Yeosang’s waist, and nuzzles his nose against Yeosang’s cheek. “I love you too.”

Yeosang pulls back to kiss him again, and despite the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything peach-flavored in days, Yeosang still somehow tastes like peaches against Jongho’s lips, and he thinks he’s never tasted anything better. He hears Seulgi come back downstairs, and he tenses a bit, a gut reaction, but when Yeosang’s teeth sink gently into his bottom lip, he forgets about her entirely. That is, until she chucks a cherry tomato at his head and calls over her shoulder, “Make sure you use protection,” as she opens the silverware drawer with a series of loud noises.

  
At her words, Yeosang bites down on Jongho’s lip  _ hard _ , which is an accident, of course, but it’s hard enough to draw blood, and they both yelp and jump away from one another like a vampire and a piece of garlic bread. Jongho touches a finger to his lip, which comes away bloody, and Yeosang scrambles for the junk drawer in the kitchen, where the Kangs apparently keep a roll of gauze for some reason. Yeosang presses the gauze to Jongho’s lip, and turns to Seulgi to yell at her, shrieking something about, “Stop being so  _ fucking _ nasty!” and Jongho thinks he’s never loved him more. He thinks he’ll think the same thing in five minutes, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next month, and probably next year. But for now, watching the love of his life and Seulgi yell at one another across a kitchen counter, the former armed with a closed fist and the latter armed with a tiny little fruit knife, he doesn’t think he’s ever loved Yeosang more than right about now.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry my beginning notes were so long...but if you didn't read them all the way through, please scroll back up and do that now, i said lots of Important Things up there. anyways, i hope you liked this, maybe even loved it, and if you did, feel free to leave a comment letting me know your thoughts!
> 
> i hope you're all staying safe, eating well, and drinking plenty of water, and i love you <3
> 
> \+ abby <3


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